Let's Panic

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it.

It was four weeks yesterday that I had the miscarriage, and it's a milestone that's whapped me upside the head. I'm not doing so well, folks. Who knew? I thought by now I'd be moving on, and instead I'm right back where I started. I'm hoping that with therapy and time and some helpful pharmaceuticals, I will regain the ability to move through the day and its many challenges without crying or unleashing my rage at some unwitting bystander (oh, my poor husband). If posting is somewhat light over the next couple of weeks, you won't stop coming here, will you? Of course you won't. Stop nodding like that.

I've tried to respond to all the amazing emails I've received, but some have slipped through the cracks. And I'm realizing that taking care of myself might mean not spending hours giving back to everyone who was kind enough to open up to me. So if you don't get a response, please know that your email (and/or comment) was read and appreciated, and that I would write a response if I weren't so busy watching "What Not to Wear" episodes and staring at my hands. I lead a rich, full existence.

But did you know? I actually managed to compose my Alphamom column for last week, somehow. And that's not all! As you may have noticed over on the right-hand column, over there, I'm in the anthology "Sleep is for the Weak," (the best title ever in the history of anthologies, if you ask me) edited by the infinitely capable Rita Arens. I'm proud to be in such excellent company, and so glad that Rita persevered in her quest to get this book out. I can't wait to read it.

Reader Comments (106)

Alice,The only thing you owe us faithful readers is to take care of yourself. I will check back all the time. You don't have to be funny or witty for us readers...just Alice.

Thank you for being brave enough to share your experiences with us. I'm 5+ months past my loss, and the grief hit me like a bus about a month ago. I was going along doing fine, then wham. Grief is a funny thing. I'm in counseling and on meds for the first time in my life. Just wanted to let you know that you're not alone. I have a 2 year old, and it's a mixed blessing. I have to get up out of bed to take care of her, but I don't think I've really allowed myself time to fully grieve. I'm so sorry for your loss. Take time to take care of yourself. It's a brave thing to face it and ask for help. Let's give ourselves some time. We'll get there.

Alice. I know I promised, at your request, never to post here again, and now I'm (deliberately) breaking that promise. Please know that the baby you lost will live in my heart, along with yours, forever. Please know that you don't have to justify your grief or sense of loss, to anyone, ever. Please know that you and your family are included in my daily prayers, and that each day I ask for you to be granted strength and grace and peace, and that one day you will receive the blessing of another child.

I heard about this through BabyCenter and I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. If it makes you feel better, I won't read you for a year, so then when I do, I'll have more posts than I will ever need and think you are the most prolific writer EVER.

I'm so sorry. Take a long rest. A long, long rest. You have a very devoted following.

One thing I'm glad about: That you realize what it is that is making you like this. This is the oddest thing that happens to women. It seems so strange that a person can have a baby or a miscarriage and not actually realize why she's going nuts but it seems to happen rather frequently.

I'm not saying this makes it any better. It just means it will be over eventually. Take care of yourself now.

When I had my miscarriages, I remember all the well-meaning people telling me things would get better. And for the most part, that was great to hear. But sometimes I wanted to strangle them. Because I didn't want it to get better. I wanted to know that this searing pain would always be with me because that's all I had left of my babies.

Hang in there Alice. The time that has passed doesn't matter. Unfortunately our culture doesn't "do" grief very well, so we tend to expect that everything returns to normal after a few weeks, but it doesn't. It can be a really lonely experience. If it helps to blog, do it, even if you pretty much say the same thing every time. If it doesn't help, then let it go for awhile. We'll all be checking every day until you're back, waiting patiently and sending you virtual hugs and lots and lots of white healing light. Unfortunately there's no way through it but through it, each moment at a time. It sucks out loud, but it's what you have to walk through right now. And we're with you out here!

Of course I will be back. It took me well over a year to get over a traumatic event in my life that everyone else, spouse included, thought I should be "over with by now." So I understand. You do what you gotta do and know you've got people on your side. {{Hugs.}}

As the mom of a child with special needs, I understand grief. It's an odd process. You think you're beyond it and you open the door and there it is, ready for another long visit. Process is the key word. I don't know if there is ever an ending. You bounce around between complete despair and feeling "normal" again until finally you begin to feel more normal than despair. You'll get there. It's hard.

Thank you for your honesty. I just had a second m/c this year. I have a four year old daughter so it was quite a shock the first time around. This time, it seems like a pattern and that terrifies me. I wish you healing and happy tommorows.

Alice, I haven't read in a while due to forces beyond my control, so this is the first I've read of your ordeal. That last post about normal grief and depression is something I lived.

My mom died when my baby was five weeks old, and I went over the edge. Since he was my only baby, I didn't know how to distinguish grief/depression/normal new baby stuff, and it was four MONTHS before I got better enough to realize how bad I really was. (And I have a ph.d. and a license to diagnose other people and everything, which I think made it easier for my ob to believe me when I said I would let her know if things were really bad. Ha.)

It still--distinguishing grief from depression--doesn't make any sense to me personally, and I lived through it. I don't think my body ever knew the difference either. I wasn't actively suicidal, but I remember thinking that if I died, at least I wouldn't have to use the breast pump again.

I am so sorry that you are in this place. And no matter what other people may say, the place I was in and the place you're in are the same. My mother died; your baby died. You are mourning the loss of someone. There is no deadline on that, and you'll be back to yourself when you are. It took me nearly a year of drugs and therapy to feel remotely like myself, and although at the time I thought that was forever, now I look back and think, "What in the world was I expecting from myself?"

Your husband will make it, and Henry will be fine. His cup is full to overflowing and having his mother take care of herself is the best thing you can do for him. So do that--watching WNTW all day is perfect for when it's an effort to just breathe in and out.

Oh Alice, sweetie, I'm so sorry. I subscribe to your feed and whenever you feel like posting, I'll be here to read. You just take care of yourself and don't worry about the blog. I hope it helps a little to know that I and all of your readers are thinking about you.

Looking forward to more posts when the time is right for you. There really isn't anything anyone can say to make miscarriage better (though it's lovely for people to try). I'm eating mine away with Twizzlers and hiding under a new haircut. We do what we must.

Hey, just wanted to tell you that it's my first real time here (I've peeked in the past, but cool bloggers intimidate me) and I read about 40 posts just now in one go. While your miscarriage totally sucks hairy balls, I do think you're still really funny. Even at your downest.